


Waking the Feral Beast

by Osprayhurricane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:49:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprayhurricane/pseuds/Osprayhurricane





	Waking the Feral Beast

Sherlock… we have to go or we’ll be late" John whispered into the full, plush lips. Sherlock just sighed with exasperation.  
"John, we still have three hours to get there…" he lowered his head and bit John’s neck lightly, soothing the area with his tongue. It was just a nibble, but it set the doctor’s skin on fire.  
"Sherlock, please, don’t do this… please"  
"Why?" He asked, raising his head and locking his grey-blue eyes with the smaller man. "This is the our last chance, John. You must see this… you must…" he pleaded, dragging John to his green armchair and forcing him to sit down.  
"Why now?" The doctor moaned, feeling Sherlock’s nimble fingers opening his trousers and pulling them down around his ankles.  
"Because it’s the last time you are mine…" the detective growled, lowering himself and kissing John hungrily. One of his hands made their way to John’s briefs, annoyed at their presence, and tugged them down. He wrapped one elegant hand around John’s length and squeezed, tearing a small, helpless moan from his beloved doctor.  
He worked quickly, pulling and squeezing, rendering his friend to incoherent lump of desire. When he leaned back, gasping for air himself, he saw the flushed cheeks, wide dilated pupils and parted wet lips. He growled at the sight beneath him, scooting down to his knees and searching for a bottle of lube underneath the chair. He stashed it there almost a month ago, hoping he could bring the topic earlier… But now, now it was the last chance to keep John here. His John.  
"Sherlock, oh god…" John hissed, feeling two slick, slender fingers probing at his entrance. The detective pushed in gently, slowly, savouring each sharp gasp escaping his doctor. It was delicious and perfect…  
"God, John…" he moaned into the smaller man’s collar, feeling himself hard and aching beneath his own clothes. He worked quickly and sufficiently, preparing John in no time. The doctor relaxed gradually, Sherlock’s fingers and his hot lips on the side of his neck made him fell like jelly.  
Soon enough Sherlock pulled his fingers out, unzipped his trousers and leaned over John, gripping the back of the chair for support. The doctor’s eyes closed and he gave a breathy moan when the taller man breached him, slowly but insistently sinking deeper. When he was fully inside he opened his eyes to find John looking at him. The doctor shifted forward to kiss him deeply, delicately, licking softly against Sherlock’s tongue.  
"I’m sorry, John… I’m so sorry…" he gasped when they broke for air.  
"What for, Sherlock?"  
"For waiting too long…" he gasped and started to thrust. 

Their cries could be easily heard in the flat downstairs, where Mrs. Hudson was making tea for her beautiful guest. Mary left her kitchen two minutes later, leaving John his ring and a scrap of paper. 

~Take care of each other~  
~Mary

 

 

   
John wiggled closer to the enticing warmth in front of him and spooned, his arm wrapping around...   
He startled awake but didn’t move so as not to wake up Sherlock. The manly musk enticing John’s half-asleep senses.    
Oh bugger, like the healthy specimen of a man that he was, John was sporting a boner. One which was situated close enough to Sherlock that he was definitely aware of it.    
“It bothers you,” Sherlock’s low voice pierced the silence. John felt his cheeks heat and he cleared his throat, not trusting his voice.   
“What is?”    
“The fact that you’re aroused,” the steady voice informed him.   
“Umm...” John rapidly took his hand off Sherlock and moved back.    
“John, I’m flattered, but...” Sherlock started to say.   
“No, no, that’s not because... I mean...” Lies. Of course, it was because of the impossible proximity to the ultimate subject of John’s unfulfilled desires lying casually two inches from him.    
“That’s why I shouldn’t have stayed,” the composed way it was said both confused and scared John.   
“I don’t understand.”   
“You see but you do not observe, John,” Sherlock moved swiftly out of the bed and wrapped himself in the sheet he came in. “I’m not saying I didn't want to stay,” his eyes scanned John from head to the duvet, “I’m saying I shouldn’t have. Because if we lay longer like this, I’m afraid you wouldn't like what I’d want to do to you.”   
Now it was time for John to be speechless. Did he mean...? Oh God. What did he mean exactly? John’s mind reeled in confusion. His vocal cords made the decision for him. “I was a soldier, remember, I can handle more than you think,” well that was a poor choice of words. John, you idiot.    
The rise of one side of Sherlock’s lips in a smile confirmed it and he didn’t look disappointed. He looked hungry, predatory, and utterly magnificent as he started crawling towards John. The sheet was slowly falling back as Sherlock moved forward, revealing a glorious expanse of porcelain skin. The movements of Sherlock’s rhomboids on his shoulder blades and the graceful, but powerful body reminded John of a video he saw of a Bengal tiger stalking his prey.    
John had seen Sherlock naked before, but he had been huddled, embarrassed, and had had no desire to be seen.    
This, he chose to do, to reveal himself to John. He was suddenly aware that his breathing quickened and maybe, just maybe he was ready to fall prey tonight. He was definitely developing a Sherlock-in-a-sheet fetish. Although, Sherlock-without-a-sheet worked just as well, he thought darting his tongue over his lower lip as the said sheet hit the floor.    
No, this was taking too long. John met Sherlock halfway and took a hold of him, rolling them both so that John was on top. He traced his fingertips along the detective’s forearms until he could interlock their fingers. It was the sight of their hands joined, more than the fact that he was dressed while sitting on a naked Sherlock, that had a profound impact on John. This was the moment he was going to remember for the rest of his life, the simple gesture that conveyed mountains of meaning. What if they held hands like that in public? On the street, just casually walking together?    
Their gazes met and an unspoken conversation passed between them. The question, the hesitation, the admission and the agreement. All wrapped in a thin veil of arousal.   
John could keep Sherlock pinned down if he wanted, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure either one of them was on board with that.   
“I will never hurt you. You know that, right?” John had to say it aloud to ensure Sherlock understood.   
“I know,” came the quick and sure reply.   
The slight thrust of Sherlock’s hips caused John to look between them, where John’s boxer shorts met Sherlock’s erection lying on his stomach. It made a small twitch and John had to suppress a giggle. Sherlock didn’t, and his low chuckle filled the room.     
At that moment, John wondered if Sherlock knew how much he affected John; if he even was aware of how handsome he was. How handsome he looked in John’s bed, with tousled hair and his porcelain skin stretched over lean muscle. But it was the open expression on Sherlock’s face, so different than the mask he wore on a daily basis, that was making John’s heartrate spike.   
When on a case, Sherlock always asked John to talk to the ladies, but if he just applied his acting skills and combined them with those godlike looks, he’d get a dead woman to confess.    
Except her, The Woman.    
The moment she barged into their lives, something changed in Sherlock. The sizzling dynamic between Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes was unlike anything John ever would associate with the detective. As if he looked up to her, or was searching for something she had. And John didn’t.    
He realized he was making a rumbling sound in his chest thinking of Sherlock with a woman; with anyone else but him.    
“Take it off,” Sherlock’s commanding tone cut through John’s thoughts as he pointed to John’s plain grey t-shirt, and it hit him like a flush of hot air. John shed the t-shirt like it was on fire. He was rewarded with a wicked smile from his detective before he felt a gentle but needy caress on his thighs.    
Sherlock’s large soft hands, so different from John’s calloused ones, started at John’s knees, burning their way up the goosebumped skin. John’s own palms started exploring at Sherlock’s abdomen, sliding over the velvet skin up to Sherlock’s ribs until his thumbs slid over the nipples. Sherlock’s mouth opened in a silent gasp before he grabbed John’s waist and rolled them over, switching positions.    
The state of extreme arousal made John’s body sensitive even to the slightest movement Sherlock made, as he reached over John to the bedside table, not wasting any time.   
“You told me you kept them,” Sherlock teased as a pair of handcuffs he had pulled from the drawer dangled from his index finger. John didn’t resist when his arms were handcuffed to the metal headboard. He trusted Sherlock. Nevertheless, the slight panic in his system was unmistakable. He pulled on the handcuffs as irrational fear swept over him; he was helpless like this.   
 “Can you handle this?” were Sherlock’s whispered words as he leaned over to kiss him. The brush of lips was very soft, almost careful, ending with a tiny nip of John’s lip. John nodded in lieu of the answer, the fear melting into anticipation. Sherlock was good at keeping a tight rein on his emotions and apparently his desires as well. It was driving John crazy right now. Impatience made him tug on the handcuffs, but he couldn't get closer.    
“Hmmm, so eager,” the lascivious words in his ear sent a shiver through John, right down to his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so aroused. Sherlock was so apathetic about sexual responses on a daily basis, that his vehement behaviour now was all the more seductive.    
Sherlock wrenched a loud moan out of John with a ferocious bite on his trapezius followed by a tender kiss. The sensation starting at John’s neck wasn’t dissimilar to a fork being stuck in a socket, resulting in John’s body arching on the mattress. John knew he will be marked and that thought only made him want more. He wanted Sherlock to brand his body with his hot mouth.   
Sherlock pressed a series of feverish kisses down John’s body, the collarbones, and the sternum. Sherlock did his research, John thought as he was being subjected to more sensual nips, bites and...   
 “Oh God!” John’s whole body spasmed when Sherlock bit his nipple. Hard. The other nipple bite wasn’t a surprise and the initial hurt was followed by such pleasure that it made it more gratifying. Sherlock lifted his gaze to John’s, the array of emotions so unlike Sherlock’s usual expression, it made John question everything he knew about the man. If what John saw was what was hidden so well under the mask of poised sophistication on a daily basis, no wonder Sherlock was so frustratingly annoying.    
The longing written on John’s face gave permission to further explorations as Sherlock placed a kiss on John’s bullet scar on the arm while still holding his gaze.    
Lust.    
That’s what overtook Sherlock’s expression. He moved lower, making a pattern of reverent nibbles until he reached John’s happy trail of hair. John let his eyelids close in a flutter; he couldn’t look into Sherlock’s eyes now. He was embarrassed. It was too intense, felt too good... He felt a bite on his inner thigh then. “Ouch!”   
“Look at me John. I want you to see what I’m doing to you. I want to see if you can still take it,” Sherlock rasped, his voice dripping with desire.    
“Yes,” John was panting now. “I swear I’m gonna punch you if you don’t continue.”   
In one swift motion Sherlock removed John’s boxer-briefs, spread John’s legs and nestled himself between them. Sherlock’s fingers were caressing John’s inner thighs, massaging the sensitive skin, making John moan in anticipation as he held Sherlock’s lustful stare.   
John had slept with many women, experienced his share of blowjobs, but he had never felt like he did now. It wasn’t just lust he felt, the desire went deeper, but he wasn’t able to identify it yet. He had always been aware that Sherlock was a handsome man, but right now Sherlock’s flushed face and dishevelled hair were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.    
A light flick of Sherlock’s tongue on John’s balls sent the latter’s eyes rolling back in pleasure. John was extremely strung-out now, he felt like a ticking bomb about to blow. Sherlock was a tease, his breath so close John could feel it on his skin but he wanted more, he needed...   
“More...” John’s word was barely a whisper.   
“More, what?”   
“More of that...” Nothing happened. John looked down at Sherlock who just waited between his spread legs, the look of playfulness mixed with carnal desire. Waited for what? The anticipation was going to kill him if he was going to wait a second longer. Then it dawned on him. “More...please?”   
Sherlock smiled wickedly before engulfing John’s cock in his mouth so deep his lips touched the pubic bone. The mere sight of his cock disappearing into Sherlock’s mouth threatened to make him explode. There hadn’t been a woman who could take all of him that way. Sherlock had to shift a little to make his throat open to fit John deep into it. And it was glorious. John could feel the tip of him being constricted between Sherlock’s pharyngeal muscles.     
The impossible heat of Sherlock’s lips, the gentle strokes of John’s balls and thighs made John’s senses scatter like an overturned jar of marbles. The handcuffs made a rattling sound again as John arched to push his hips upward. He didn’t mind the handcuffs now, rather enjoyed them really, but he wished he could touch Sherlock’s hair. The thick black curls that tickled his abdomen oh so sweetly.    
Sherlock’s mouth went torturously slow up John’s member, his tongue doing a swirl under the glans that made John see whole constellations of stars. A low growl accompanied Sherlock’s movements and the vibrations it created on John were beyond incredible. Then he pulled almost all the way up and sucked the glans making slow flicks on the frenulum.    
John was incredibly close, oh God, so close. He felt his balls tighten and the mind-reader between his legs gently stroked them as he released John’s cock with an audible pop, leaving him desolate.   
“Not yet,” Sherlock’s baritone informed him and John’s body listened, retreating from the edge.   
Cool air in place of heat made John shiver until Sherlock’s hand took the place of his mouth and his head bent lower to apply his skilful tongue to his sac. John groaned in pleasure, but stiffened just a second later when Sherlock licked his arsehole while still pumping John’s erection.   
A sheen of cold sweat broke on his forehead. John wasn’t sure he was ready for what might happen next. Sherlock’s eyes were still on him, watchful, and when John gave a small nod Sherlock continued. The unhurried, gentle licks were followed with some pressure from his tongue. It was a bizarre feeling at first but so pleasurable that John had no choice but to give in. Just when John was getting used to the idea, Sherlock stopped and fumbled with a small bottle. Lube? Probably the one that John kept next to the handcuffs. He stiffened again at the unfamiliar touch in a no longer exit-only area. Oh God it was so big, John squirmed in trepidation.    
“Relax, John, it's a finger,” the smile in Sherlock’s voice made John release a small laugh which quickly turned into gasp when Sherlock started working in another heavily lubricated finger. “Do you want it, John?”   
“Yes,” he exhaled the word rather than said it. But not ‘it’; John wanted ‘him’, his detective.   
He wanted Sherlock.    
The same one, who now moved up to lay on top of him, trapping both of their cocks between their bodies in a frottage dance. Sherlock’s fingers reached John’s prostate and massaged gently, maintaining the tortuous rhythm in and out of his body. John had had no idea that fingers inside him could feel so good. Sherlock’s name was on his lips over and over again.    
With every thrust of Sherlock’s fingers, every rub of Sherlock’s body on top of him, John was getting closer to falling off the edge. Sherlock’s free hand moved to John’s throat applying slight pressure as he whispered huskily,    
“Come for me, John,” and as if a string holding John was released, his body tensed and let go, the extensive stimuli causing his orgasm to slam into him. There was only one word tearing its way from John’s throat,   
“Sherlock...SHERLOCK!”   
   
John’s own scream woke him up. It was just a dream. Glorious and erotic, but unfortunately just a dream. The disappointment was mixed with imaginary post-coital bliss.   
“John?” came a voice from right in front of him on the bed. John gasped audibly, finally opening his eyes as he realized that he must have passed out from the intensity of his orgasm. It hadn't been a dream after all. Sherlock must have removed the handcuffs because John’s hands were free. Free to...   
“Come here,” asked John, already wrapping himself around his detective lying with his back to him. His palm rested on Sherlock’s chest, registering the even rhythm of up and down movements. John fell asleep within seconds, and it was the soundest sleep he had had in years.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

leaned on the wall.    
“You...ohhh. You went to her as a client?” John didn’t attempt to hide his surprise.   
“Of course. Why else would I go there?”   
John opened his mouth and mulled the conversation over. Had Sherlock not seen it as cheating because it hadn’t been emotional? Was it cheating if they weren’t a couple? John wondered himself if his jealousy wasn’t misplaced, but he felt it whether he wanted to or not. It was just an experiment to Sherlock, apparently. John would never be able to understand what went on in that funny head of his.    
“Did she ever say anything about the importance of communication?” John had to know if Sherlock at least learned something helpful.    
“Yes. During sexual acts it’s very important,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly, quite proud of himself.     
Sexual acts. John's body reacted to those words leaving Sherlock’s mouth as if he had been slapped, and not in the face.    
“No, it’s not only then. You tell me nothing, Sherlock. You disappear, you don’t call and then return and get on with your life like nothing happened,” John refrained from pushing an index finger into Sherlock’s chest as he said it.   
“Because nothing did. And that’s what you always do. Get on with your life.”   
“People care, Sherlock...” I care. ”...and wonder if you’re alright when you’re gone.” If you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere, mindless from overdose.    
“You told me you’d seen the papers. I was all right,” Sherlock said unemotionally.   
“You don't get it, do you?” John was on the brink of giving up the whole subject.   
Sherlock blinked. Twice. John sighed with resignation, his hand sliding through his hair in a frustrated gesture.   
“What if I make it up to you?” Sherlock’s fingers grazed the top of John’s palm and that was enough. John was ready for whatever came next, whether it was a new case or Sherlock. He’d rather prefer Sherlock to come next. “If we’re still pointing fingers; didn’t you just have a drink with a lady therapist? Louise. You are on first name basis, hmm?” Sherlock’s eyes were searching his.    
Was Sherlock Holmes jealous? Nah, they weren’t a couple, so why would he be jealous? He isn’t like that. He doesn’t feel things that way. John didn’t know what they were and apparently neither did Sherlock.   
“Oh please,” John sighed remembering the whole fiasco at the bar with Dr. Frankland cock-blocking him. ‘Live-in PA’, he said. Arsehole. John realised that he shouldn’t have thought that, the man had died for heaven’s sake. Apparently, John was still strung out from the horror and excitement of the case.    
“John? You do realize it is perfectly fine to be attracted to both sexes, right?” Sherlock’s soft fingers stroked John’s chin to lift it up. “John?”   
John was confused at Sherlock's blatant statement coming out of nowhere until he realized that he was squeezing Sherlock’s hand as they stood just inside the room. He needed his mind far away from this horrid day and from the emotional confusion bubbling under the thin layer of his skin. He squeezed Sherlock’s hand again, this time looking up at his face to assess his reaction.    
“Yeah... Yes. I don’t know. I just know I want this Sherlock,” he indicated their hands interwoven together. “Let me touch you,” John’s hand slid up Sherlock’s torso to his arms, discarding Sherlock’s coat, leaving it to pool on the floor.   
“You don't have to do this,” Sherlock's words belied his expression.    
“I want this. Even you can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”   
“I can’t?” the question had a playful undertone.   
“No. Everything you ask for or do to me, I actually want,” John’s expression was serious, he wanted Sherlock to know he meant what he’d said.    
“John,” Sherlock’s voice became serious, “when you want me to stop, say,-”   
“Vatican Cameos,” John replied quickly.   
Sherlock smiled. “That will do. Use it. Don’t overthink it. If you do, it means you don’t really want to continue. I don’t want you to do anything that doesn’t bring you pleasure... John?”   
“I know. And I will use it if necessary,” John replied equally serious, but his hand kept wandering.    
“That’s...” Sherlock’s words caught in his throat when John reached his erection, “...good.” Sherlock groaned pushing his hips unto John’s eager palm. His body was betraying him.    
“So, am I your friend now, Sherlock? You did tell me I’m stimulating, am I right?” John’s voice had a playful undertone now, a squeeze of his hand on Sherlock’s cock punctuating the last words.    
“Give me your mouth, John,” Sherlock’s breathless command stirred John’s libido.   
John obliged, taking Sherlock's face in his hands before their lips clashed. Their tongues danced a desperate tango of testosterone overload. John could feel the detective’s tensed body as his hands wrapped around John, holding him close in a greedy embrace. One hand travelled to squeeze John’s arse and pull their hips closer together, pinning Sherlock’s erection to John’s abdomen. It was John who groaned into the kiss this time at the friction of their bodies grinding against each other. John’s fingers twisted into Sherlock’s soft hair, holding on as if it were an anchor.    
With a sigh of regret at the separation, John broke the kiss to start unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. His hands moved fast; he didn’t have the cool patience Sherlock possessed and after the second button he just ripped the rest apart. The buttons went flying in all directions and made tiny staccato sounds wherever they landed. The belt was next. John slid it from Sherlock's trousers with a sharp tug but before he managed to toss it aside, Sherlock caught John’s wrist and took the belt, wrapping it once around his own fist.    
The swiftness and grace of Sherlock’s movements never ceased to amaze John. Whenever he moved, it was similar to watching a dancer, with straight back, sure steps and an occasional turn. The way he caught the belt coupled with the look he gave John at that moment suggested John was in trouble. However, it was the kind of trouble he loved to be in with Sherlock. Danger, surprise, and excitement were the things Sherlock never failed to deliver.    
Sherlock's trousers slid to the ground with a soft thump and only the silk of his black boxers covered that which was clearly extremely happy to see John. John couldn’t suppress a smile that Sherlock wanted him just as much as he wanted Sherlock. John slid his hand inside the boxers to wrap it around Sherlock’s cock and pulled it so that the head peaked out over the waistband.    
He looked up at Sherlock’s face, the straight nose, impossible cheekbones and lips carved as if from a mountain, which were slightly open in a sharp intake of air caused by the caresses of John’s hand. John placed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's jawline before he lowered himself to his knees. He placed his palms on the backs of Sherlock’s calves and slid them upwards until he reached the buttocks. He was still observing the reaction on the detective’s face as his mouth moved to Sherlock’s boxers and he gently bit at Sherlock's balls through the fabric.    
Sherlock’s hand flew to John’s hair. With a tug he turned John’s head up to look at him.   
“Oh John...” for an erudite man, Sherlock lacked the vocabulary to describe what he saw in John or what he felt at that moment. The belt still swinging from Sherlock’s other hand looped its way around John’s neck. The detective looked at John kneeling before him with hands on Sherlock’s thighs and his neck bound with a belt, the end of which Sherlock was holding. John felt the tightness of the belt but it didn’t hurt. On the contrary, the idea of Sherlock holding him, controlling him, made John’s breathing accelerate.     
Sherlock was coming undone and had to hold on to a semblance of power with the belt. John’s chest expanded at the sight of the reaction he had caused. Because it was John doing that to him, making Sherlock gasp for him. John took the waistband of the boxers between his teeth and slowly slid them down the long legs in front of him. Sherlock gave him just enough belt length to do it slowly and once John reached the calves, the pull of the belt on John’s neck brought him up to his knees again, eye-level with Sherlock’s glorious erection. John wanted to taste it so badly he was licking his lower lip.    
He’d never wanted a man so fiercely. Come to think of it, he’d never craved a woman like that either. There was something, he couldn’t identify what, about Sherlock that brought John to his knees, both literally and figuratively.    
John raised his gaze to meet Sherlock’s before he licked the tear of precome from the tip and started a slow and torturous slide down Sherlock's erection.  John had sunk down a little over halfway onto Sherlock’s erection when his throat protested. His other hand was fondling Sherlock’s sac and he suddenly realised he had no bloody clue what he was doing.   
“Let me know what I should,-” he started, and felt a blush creeping to his cheeks.   
“You’re doing just fine,” came the breathless reply from above. John felt a smile tug his lips. The great detective was coming apart from John’s touch. Quickly enough, John fell into a bobbing rhythm adding his hand to pump the base of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock twisted one hand in John’s short hair, as the other hand was still holding him on a short leash.    
“Slower,” Sherlock gasped. He pulled at John’s hair, hard enough that John’s mouth slid free of his cock. A thin sheen of sweat covered Sherlock’s torso and John couldn’t wait to see the detective giving in to pleasure completely. Finally, the grip on the belt slackened and John could continue his sucking torture, a deep need in him making him groan into Sherlcok’s erection as his own was helplessly trapped in his trousers. “Hollow your cheeks, John. Hmmm good. You feel so good,” John followed instructions and basked in the rare praise.   
When he felt Sherlock’s grip tighten and his legs tense, John picked up the pace and soon was rewarded by the glorious sight of Sherlock’s body arching from the wall, his head falling back, his mouth releasing a loud groan as his orgasm hit him. John should know what to expect, but the sudden flow of semen into his mouth made him pull back and Sherlock loosened his grip to allow him to do so. The warm spurts hit John’s face, his torso and his shirt in a random array of splashes. Sherlock was looking down at him then and the look on the detective’s flushed face told John he had done well. John smiled, feeling his face getting crimson. He was quite proud of himself.    
Suddenly, Sherlock knelt in front of him, took John’s filthy face into his hands and linked their mouths together. John could breathe better as the end of the belt slid to the ground, and the rest still remaining around his throat became loose. They fell to the ground with Sherlock on top of John, squeezing John’s erection with his hand. John’s hips arched towards Sherlock’s hand, increasing the friction.   
“You’re so filthy, John. So glorious with my come on your face and in your hair. I want you to make even more mess,” John hadn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager but tonight, with Sherlock’s words enticing him and the fast, rhythmic frottage on his erection, he knew he didn’t have time to stop it from happening again. Nor did he want to. Sucking Sherlock in itself had inflamed John’s senses to the point Sherlock’s touch on him was sheer torment.     
“Come for me, John. Now!” John’s body as if metaphysically linked to Sherlock’s demands, did what it was told and his body tensed before releasing pent-up frustration, the pulses of which left his pants and trousers uncomfortably sticky.   
Sherlock held him through the post-orgasm pulsing of his body before they both stumbled into the tiny shower stall. They bumped elbows on the plastic walls of the stall making a loud ruckus. Sherlock's back ended up on the electric shower on the wall and turned it on, drenching him in an instant. John’s laughter filled the tiny compartment and Sherlock promptly joined him. John marvelled at the beauty of the sound and the sight of Sherlock’s happiness.    
“Your hair,” John bent in half with laughter as far as the cramped space let him at the sight of the wet black curls plastered to Sherlock’s forehead. Abruptly, Sherlock switched places and hauled John under the spray. John gasped at the freezing water cascading down his body. It was slowly warming up though, in sync with his libido. His laugher ceased at the look in Sherlock’s eyes. He had that look when he deduced something important for a case, found something fascinating and captivating. John’s chest swelled knowing this look was intended for him. “You’re doing the look.”   
“What look?   
John unbuttoned just the top of his shirt and pulled it off over his head the rest of the way, throwing it carelessly on the bathroom floor. His come-stained, wet trousers were next along with his briefs. “That look,” he managed to say before Sherlock was on him like a feral animal.   
John felt the bite on his neck first, as if he was being held in place with Sherlock’s teeth, then Sherlock’s hands on his buttocks, squeezing ferociously. This was how Sherlock behaved with everything else in life, John thought. Sherlock could be calm and collected when he was focused on a case or over his microscope but once he let the frenzied man sleeping inside him out, he went absolutely berserk. And John loved it. Loved the open-mouthed kisses on his neck, the possessive grip, all of it. Suddenly, Sherlock ceased his movements, his shallow quick breaths close to John’s ear. “I can stop...”   
“No,” John said firmly which made Sherlock graze his ear with his teeth, his wet curls brushing John’s cheek. “You’re not allowed to do this,” John could tell that his soldier-stern command turned Sherlock on, yet he still liked to take control. John turned to face Sherlock to put one hand on Sherlock’s cheek and he used the other to pull the hair out of Sherlock’s eyes. “You’re not allowed to make me want you so badly, my insides hurt and then stop.”    
“But I...” Sherlock looked at his hands then back at John.   
“No, you didn’t hurt me. I trust you. I want this. I could easily stop you if I didn’t like it, right?”   
“Yes, just use the safeword,” Sherlock replied seriously. Then the left side of his lips moved upward in a gorgeous little smile.   
John smiled back and started removing Sherlock’s buttonless shirt while looking into his eyes. John could get lost in them as they glinted from drops of water or something else entirely, the pools of colour hiding an abundance of emotion; hurt, misjudgement and cruelty which Sherlock must have dealt with for most of his life. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are...how absolutely perfect you are, Sherlock?”   
Sherlock opened his mouth then closed it, swallowing audibly. Sherlock always had a witty reply to everything except praise about anything other than his intellect. He could hardly accept it, much less respond to it. But that was alright, John was with him, he had chosen to be with him. They both had.    
All of a sudden, something snapped inside Sherlock and John was pinned to the stall’s wall, face first in a loud clash of bodies rocking the flimsy structure.   
“Someone will hear, and they already think we’re...” John started saying.   
“I don’t care what people think about us, John. I want you here with me for as long as you’ll stay. Let them talk. Just forget everyone else for a moment,” were the last coherent words Sherlock said before the beast in him moulded itself to John’s back.    
‘As long as I’ll stay?’ What’s that supposed to mean? Were the last thoughts running through John’s head right before it was completely devoid of coherent thought.   
Sherlock’s cock was already at half-mast when John felt in against his arse cheeks. More biting followed the heated touch of the detective’s hands. Oh, God. Sherlock’s teeth were scraping John’s shoulders, administering quite painful bites to which John’s chest reacted in low rumblings of pleasure. Sherlock’s right hand travelled to John’s bicep and his long fingers exercised a series of pinches and twists until John’s body bent just slightly, sending his backside back, harder into Sherlock.   
That’s when John felt Sherlock’s fingers probing him from behind, cautiously massaging his back entrance. Even though they had done this before, John was still unfamiliar with the sensations and what followed. But oh god, how he wanted it. How he relished the feeling of Sherlock’s hands on him, anywhere and everywhere on him. But Sherlock was too cautious.   
“Sherlock, please. I’ll say Vatican Cameos when it’s too much. But until then, just please don’t stop. I won’t break.”   
John’s hand moved to his still sensitive erection, which was waking up just in time for the party. Sherlock’s hand moved away from his nipple to bat John’s wandering hand away.   
“No touching. Your cock is mine, John. Understood?”   
“Yes,” gasped John, the air from his lungs being squished by Sherlock’s forearm pushing under his shoulder blades. Then soft suds covered John’s back as Sherlock started lathering his body, his large yet graceful hands slipped over his pecs and abdomen, then lower. “Yes,” seemed the only word John’s lips were capable of forming on his lips as he was being washed with an astounding attention to detail. When Sherlock’s touch was gone, John stood under the spray watching Sherlock wash himself, this time quickly and efficiently. John wanted to do it for him, but he was too hypnotized by the sight in front of him to move.    
Unceremoniously naked, Sherlock left the bathroom to get something from his luggage. John turned off the shower and followed suit, wrapping a towel around his hips as something flew in his direction. He caught it one-handed but the movement caused the towel to slip to the ground. He was too intrigued to care.    
“It has a pink bow on it...” The palm sized box was neatly wrapped in a shiny bright red wrapping paper and adorned with a bow. John bit his bottom lip in an effort not to comment.   
“I didn’t wrap it, obviously. Just open it,” Sherlock noticed John’s confused stare as they both sat next to each other on the bed. Sherlock kept his eyes on John’s face to observe his reaction to the gift inside.   
John tore the wrapping paper and his hands froze. “Is that what you went there for?” he looked at Sherlock whose brows were furrowed and eyes focused on John. “You went to Prague to do some shopping but you can’t go to the Tesco Express at the corner to get some milk?”   
“Does that mean you don’t like the gift?” Sherlock’s eyes searched his face intently. He was trying to gauge John’s reaction. John felt a warmth spreading in his chest. The most caring he’d ever seen Sherlock was behind closed doors, where no one else could see him. Maybe ‘caring’ was too big of a word but he was cognizant that someone could have feelings; that someone being John. John was painfully aware Sherlock wasn’t recognizing the reasons for some of the emotions John was feeling at times, but it was a huge progress from the first time they had met.   
“It’s a,-” Sherlock took John’s silence as a prompt to explain but John cut him off abruptly, not wanting to hear the word coming from Sherlock yet.   
“I know what it is. It just looks...big.”   
“It’s not as big as...” the sly grin Sherlock was sporting could be clearly heard in his voice.   
“Shut up, Sherlock,” John felt his face go flaming red yet again, his body heating immediately. He couldn’t look at Sherlock when he said, “I like the gift.”   
A glass with two fingers of brandy appeared in front of John’s downturned gaze and he took it, taking a large sip, then a second.    
 Sherlock took John’s glass away, placing it next to his own, which stood untouched on the table. Next to the glasses was a bundle covered with a large napkin.   
“Not too much, John.”   
“I’m not drunk, and we’re not doing anything I’m unwilling to do,” John replied a second before Sherlock’s lips collided with his and John felt himself being moved to the middle of the bed. The taste of chocolate in Sherlock’s mouth clashed with John’s own bourbon taste and it felt like the metaphor of their characters together. So much contrast, but inexplicably perfect when joined in passion.    
John lay down on his front with the glorious weight of Sherlock on top of him. The frottage of his privates on the bedsheet made him groan.   
“You pulled rank today,” Sherlock’s low voice by John’s ear sent shivers through him.   
“Yes. I haven’t done that in ages.”   
“That was...good...” the words dripped with exaltation and pride. Or was it just pure arousal? John was inclined towards the latter as Sherlock’s lips sucked on the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His trapezius muscles were so strung they screamed from the bites Sherlock delivered. John knew purple round circles would be visible on his skin the next day. Sherlock was marking him, claiming him and John wanted it as much as his next breath.   
Sherlock’s vicious assault continued along John’s body ending with a ferocious bite to John’s arse cheek. “Sherlock?!”   
“Did that hurt?” came a guttural question.   
“Yes,” John’s reply was muffled by the pillow he was biting.   
“Do you want me to stop?”   
“Don’t you dare!” To punctuate the threat, John pushed towards Sherlock. At that, Sherlock pulled John’s arse upwards and held his cheeks apart in a firm grip, squeezing with both hands.    
The lick that came next was expected but no less surprising for John. He relaxed to it, relishing the feel of the same tongue that delivered brilliant deductions, now doing something so gloriously vulgar. Sherlock took the plug out of the box and presented it to John.   
“Open your mouth,” Sherlock said, pulling John’s head to the side so that his left cheek lay on the pillow. John obliged wordlessly, taking the silicone between his lips, meeting Sherlock’s gaze. He sucked on it, delighted by the charged look on Sherlock’s face. It dripped with John’s saliva when Sherlock took it out. John heard the sound of the lube bottle being opened then fumbling sounds before he felt the tip of the butt plug at his back entrance.    
The plug was being worked into John’s body at a torturously slow tempo, but it wasn’t until Sherlock reached for John’s growing erection that John pushed back to get it in deeper.    
“Oh God, Sherlock...how can you be so...so...”   
“Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”   
“...sexy,” at hearing the word leave John’s mouth, Sherlock pushed the plug all the way in and John gasped then relaxed, his erection hard now in Sherlock’s firm grip. Sherlock massaged the place where the flat end of the plug ended, then pushed it slightly in a different direction. John gasped and bit the pillow as it touched his prostate. Sherlock continued the sublime torture with the plug while keeping up an excruciatingly slow rhythm with his hand on John’s cock. “Sherlock...” John gasped as his body started bucking.    
“No, not yet.”   
“I can’t wait any longer,” John scraped his nails on the sheets as he moaned the words into the pillow.   
“Yes, you can. I know you can, John,” Sherlock said in a gravelly voice and kissed John’s shoulder blade, his lips lingering, his breath on John’s skin.    
Sherlock squeezed John’s cock below the head while slowly working the plug out. “That’s enough for today. But next time you’ll be plugged like that when you blow me,” Sherlock promised in a guttural voice.   
John could imagine it and he gripped the wooden headboard above his head, anchoring himself for the sea of pleasure Sherlock was wrenching from him. He was on the brink of jumping from the plank into that sea and getting lost in the waves of ecstasy, but Sherlock was keeping him on the edge. Once the plug was out, John collapsed flat on the bed.   
“Your first time should be on top, I think you’re ready,” Sherlock said in voice lower than usual, laced with desire so fierce that John felt his own elation rise. Sherlock wanted him so badly that he was coming apart from the hunger.   
Fortunately, Sherlock slid slid next to John and helped him into a new position, because John’s limbs were barely functional, the tingling spreading all over his body. John was a grenade and Sherlock just pulled out the plug out of him. All he was waiting for now was the explosion.   
John straddled Sherlock’s thighs and took a moment to marvel at the man under him, who looked like he was made of porcelain, but was decidedly not easily breakable. He was now stroking himself, spreading lube generously on his erection and waiting for John with a heated stare.   
“Come here, John,” Sherlock licked his lips and John leaned it, wanting to lick them as well. The kiss was hard, desperate and demanding. In the meantime, Sherlock positioned himself at John’s entrance and John reacted, pushing downward. He rose slightly, then sank a little further, rose and then sank again. They both groaned into the kiss as John continued his slow descent.   
John broke the kiss to sit up when Sherlock was seated inside him to the hilt. The impossible fullness was incredible but the fact that it was Sherlock filling him so deeply turned him on even more. Sherlock gripped John’s hips and started moving him back and forth. John caught the rhythm and braced himself on Sherlock’s pectorals for balance, the heat of Sherlock’s body searing into him. One of Sherlock’s hands wrapped around John’s cock and started stroking in earnest.    
“Yes. Oh god, Sherlock. You feel so good,” John felt surrounded inside and outside by his detective and it was something he had never before felt in his life. He felt completed, as if just now recognising that one thing had been missing from his life. It wasn’t only physical, he knew that now. John quickened the pace of his hips and Sherlock matched the movement of his hand to it.   
“Let go,” Sherlock growled, “come for me, John.”   
Hearing that command, John’s body exploded and he was faintly aware of the loud animal sounds he made matching Sherlock’s guttural expressions of pleasure. John’s come adorned Sherlock’s chest in white ribbons as he came feeling Sherlock pulsing inside him and arching beneath him.    
Sherlock’s flushed face, with mouth open in an O shape, should be made into a painting and hung above John’s bed so he could look at it every night before going to sleep.   
Finally, John collapsed next to Sherlock, detaching himself in the process.    
“That was...” John started.   
“I know...” Sherlock replied, still trying to regulate his breathing.   
They lay in silence for a moment, recuperating as if they had run a marathon. Sherlock got up first and brought a wet towel, with which he wiped John’s chest and then himself. John was too exhausted to care if he was sticky or not as his eyes fluttered close.    
“Open your mouth,” said Sherlock just above John’s head. A heat struck John as he heard those words remembering what Sherlock meant the last time he uttered them. With eyes still shut, he opened his mouth.    
“Mmmmm,” he said as he bit into the grape, “where did you get the food from?”    
“Downstairs,” Sherlock said through a mouthful of chocolate.   
“Now?” John sat up in bed. Did he fall asleep?   
“No, I had it brought before,” Sherlock indicated the plate on the table and John recognised it as the bundle covered with a napkin he saw earlier. Sherlock threw another grape at John and he caught it in his mouth. His reflexes had always been excellent. John couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock, standing stark naked with a plate of food and munching on a piece of cheese. The image in front of him seemed more like a fantasy than reality to John. This was his reality now. John’s lips lifted in a secret triumphant smile.   
“You shaved,” John pointed out amused while he reached for more food from the plate.   
“Excellent deduction.”   
“It’s tricky. With a razor down there.”   
“I usually use your electric shaver but I thought clean-shaven works better for apologies.”   
"Oh, so you predicted that I...” John started saying with amusement, “...wait, you used my shaver? I use it for my face,” John burst out laughing and Sherlock’s low chuckle joined him a second later.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

"No, listen to me. It's not just tonight. I want this... have wanted this..." He chewed his lip and began wringing his hands in frustration. Tell him. Just tell him. "This is it. This is the only chance I'm ever going to get. Please, John..."  
A small smile played across John's lips and he sighed, shaking his head. He looked conflicted, but he began to move closer to the warm body that was eagerly awaiting his touch in the middle of the bed.  
"I know it seems like a bad idea because it probably is, but I'll never stop thinking about it if I let this opportunity pass," he continued, lifting a hand to his flatmate's cheek.  
"You will tell me if you want me to stop, yes?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear. The detective nodded quickly before wrapping his arms around the shorter man and pulling him back on top of himself. He spread his legs once more to allow his flatmate better access and basked in the heat that emanated from his skin. He welcomed the return of John's weight on his torso. It made him feel safe.  
"I want to taste you, John," Sherlock breathed hastily, the words sounding frantic as they spilled from his mouth. They had been so dangerously close to ending such a magnificent night, he was not going to risk letting this opportunity pass.  
John bit his lip and moved up to his knees, but before he could maneuver into another position Sherlock was already sitting up planting kisses across his abdomen. The detective wrapped his arms around the small of his flatmate's back and let his teeth graze the soft flesh of John's stomach. Anxious fingers were suddenly tangled in his hair and the man's erection was soon at attention once more, pressing firmly against his cheek.  
"Tell me what you like," Sherlock whispered entirely too seductively before wrapping his lips around the head of John's cock, moving slowly to coat it fully in slick saliva. He tongued at the silky skin curiously, taking into account the small shudders that began wracking his friend's body and trying to pinpoint the movements that caused them. He was gentle at first, careful to keep his teeth from grazing the sensitive flesh as he acclimated to the weight in his mouth, but the encouraging sounds that came from above aided his confidence. He hollowed his cheeks and pressed the length further into his mouth, as far as he could comfortably manage.  
"That... that's actually quite good," John managed to say, fingers tightly wound through his flatmate's curls. "Maybe use your hand as well?" he asked shyly.  
Sherlock moaned in response and the man shuddered at the vibration, bucking his hips forward unintentionally. The motion nearly caused the detective to choke but he recovered quickly, using the small pause to wrap his long fingers around the base of John's cock.  
"Mmm... Like this?" Sherlock asked, hot breath cascading over the man's wanting prick. He smiled to himself before letting his tongue slide over the tip, lapping up the sticky beads of precum that settled there.  
"Oh god yes," John moaned, rocking his hips. His hands felt heavy and uncoordinated in Sherlock's hair, and he took it as a good sign. He tugged delicately at the firm flesh that filled his palm and twisted his hand gently before taking the head back into his mouth. He snaked his tongue across the underside of John's magnificent cock and hummed, sending an unbearably delectable sensation throughout his body. "God, Sherlock... Your mouth is so perfect," John managed, rubbing his friend's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You're perfect," he added, chewing his lip.  
Sherlock stole a glance upward to find his flatmate breathing heavily, eyes shut tightly in what appeared to be ecstasy. His heart pounded harder in his chest at the sight of what his clumsy, amateur handiwork had done, and his own cock twitched impatiently. Interesting.  
"Can I fuck you?" John asked suddenly, his voice gravelly and breathless. He hissed as his flatmate pulled away, obviously having been close to release. "You're bloody good at that, you know."  
Sherlock blushed and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. It made him feel filthy, and he was slowly beginning to realize just how much he enjoyed that.  
"Of course you can. And... thanks?" He smirked devilishly before lying back on the bed and let his eyes wander over John's body. While not as tall or lean as his own, his flatmate's build still appeared fit and strong. He'd seen the man sprint and jump and fight - he knew it to be true. He licked his lips as John picked up the previously discarded bottle, turning it in his hands.  
"Tell me if you want me to stop," the man reiterated, raising an eyebrow.  
"Okay," Sherlock agreed. He decided it would be better not to argue or fuss. He watched closely as his friend flipped open the top with a quiet snap and then poured some of the fluid over his fingers, letting the excess drip onto his own thigh carelessly. It was mesmerizing and appeared almost in slow motion.  
"Spread your legs a bit," John requested and Sherlock obliged, although he felt a bit overexposed. He let his arms fall to his sides awkwardly and tried his best not to let his mind draw comparisons with a medical examination. He felt a chill in the air settle over him and he took in a deep breath.  
The initial contact felt cold despite John's gracious attempts to warm the lubricant with his hands. He tried his best not to startle, though he was sure his body had betrayed him. The touch felt foreign and out of place but he tried to stay calm, chewing the inside of his cheek discreetly as his flatmate continued his ministrations.  
"Just relax," John whispered before placing his hand over Sherlock's cock. He palmed it softly, attempting to bring it back to attention since he seemed to be losing focus. The detective tried his best to comply and let his eyes wander to the hand that stroked him, fixated on the sensation of warm flesh against his stirring erection. His mouth fell open slightly as he felt a finger slip inside him, and he begged his muscles to remain pliable, fighting the natural urge to pull away. "That's it," John encouraged as he leaned forward to kiss the inside of Sherlock's thigh. The detective exhaled as his flatmate worked up to the second knuckle. "God your gorgeous," the doctor said with a sigh as he let his mouth wander toward the cock in his hand.  
Sherlock let his head fall back as John's tongue found its was to the base of his prick, hardly noticing when the rest of his flatmate's digit disappeared inside him. He arched his back and dug his nails into the sheets, humming his approval. The doctor continued to stretch him as he licked his way up the firm shaft, alternating between suckling and lapping at the sensitive skin. The detective opened his mouth, probably to say something about John's delightful tongue, but before he could find the words he felt something new and electrifying that made him simply gasp. His friend let out a knowing "ah" before repeating the motion with his fingers, and Sherlock nearly writhed out of his grasp. He muttered something incoherent and full of obscenities as John smiled up at him, fucking him with two fingers that the detective hadn't even realized were inside of him.  
"May I?" John asked innocently, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over his perineum.  
"Please do," Sherlock replied quickly, nearly cutting him off. He propped himself up on his elbows to press their lips together, and he ambitiously allowed himself to bite down on his flatmate's lip. He smiled as John moaned into the kiss and he breathed it in, anxious and excited by their closeness. He lingered there for a moment longer before reluctantly falling back onto the bed, eyes glued to John's hands as they reached for the small bottle once more. The man's movements were much less casual now as he hastily flipped open the cap and poured its contents directly onto his erection and smeared it about with his fingers. He was eager, so very eager, and Sherlock loved to see him like this.  
John positioned himself between his flatmate's legs and their eyes met, full of intrigue and desire. Sherlock was sure he had never seen someone's pupils so dilated, someone's cheeks so flushed... The fire in John's eyes was making him dizzy and he felt like he might melt into his arms right then and there. He breathed deeply and felt the pressure of his friend's member against him, and he wanted it so badly. He kissed at John's neck and down to his clavicle, tasting the salt on his skin before dragging his tongue to his shoulder. He sunk his teeth into the creamy flesh hard as John pressed inside him.  
It hurt too much yet not enough, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His body shuddered against his will, but John held him tightly and he began to relax. He licked at the marks he left on his flatmate's shoulder and whimpered as John rocked his hips carefully, letting him get used to the foreign sensation.  
"Are you-"  
"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, perhaps rudely, but his friend didn't seem to mind. It seemed wrong to tarnish the moment with more questions about whether he was alright, because how could he not be? He was in John's arms, finally and completely, and he felt so very warm.  
The more John moved the better he began to feel, and he found himself moving his hips in a slow but steady rhythm. He was nervous that he was taking too long to adapt to the feeling of being so bloody full, but if that were the case his flatmate didn't show it. He licked his lips and gently sucked at John's trapezius, strangely finding solace in the warm crook of his neck. His friend's hot breath felt phenomenal as it fell over him, and he whined as John's cock grazed his prostate.  
"Fuck," Sherlock breathed, the sharp consonants cutting through the silence at last. It felt amazing and he wanted more, needed more of that feeling. He arched his back and grabbed hold of John's arse hard in his hands, entertaining the idea of giving it a good slap. John pulled out and then snapped his hips forward more forcefully than before, and Sherlock couldn't help but cry out in pleasure.  
It was unlike anything he'd experienced before. While the concept of sex was still quite new, he understood the necessity of release. The male anatomy could be a persistent and fickle thing at times, and therefore he was no stranger to the notion of pleasuring oneself, but he somehow did not realize the variables that could come with it. He generally did not look forward to the act of masturbation while everyone else seemed to enjoy it, and only deemed it a necessity to either clear his head or to avoid discomfort. It was simply physical stimulation - what could be interesting about that?  
But this - this was different in so many ways. He could feel John's heart racing in his chest as their bodies pressed together, he could hear the sounds of pleasure as they escaped through gritted teeth. He loved the feel of his flatmate's slick cock filling him entirely, and he understood the difference. He felt so close, as though they were a part of each other, and he dug his nails into his friend's soft flesh.  
He threw his head back as John wrapped a hand around his neglected member, and he yelped as a hot mouth began sucking at his neck. The flurry of sensations was becoming too much, and he knew he would not last much longer. That seemed to be the point, however, as John's thrusts began to grow more disjointed, more hasty and desperate with each second that passed. He could feel his release nearing but he tried to stave it off, tried to make this moment last as long as possible. Sharp teeth clamped down on his throat and he realized he was cursing something filthy, muddled words falling over themselves as they escaped from his mouth on their own accord. His voice was low and ragged, worn out from the moans and whimpers that John managed to fuck out of him without his noticing, and he came hard all over his flatmate's hand.  
"Fuck, Sherlock," John shouted, slamming into him impossibly fast. Sherlock's body convulsed through the waves of his orgasm as John continued to ride him, achingly close to his own release. His spent cock was still being teased between their slick bodies and he whined at the sudden sensitivity, his muscles shuddering uncontrollably as John finally spilled inside him, eyes shut tightly and chewing his lip.  
Sherlock finally fell limp and exhausted, whimpering from the overstimulation as his flatmate pulled out, sticky and dripping and sexy as hell. John let himself fall onto the bed beside him and they simply laid there for a few moments in silence, trying to catch their breath.  
"So... How was it?" John asked finally, a smile apparent in his voice.  
"Can't speak... too tired..." was Sherlock's response, and his friend laughed.  
"Good. That's good, then."  
Sherlock nodded sleepily and turned, resting his cheek against John's chest. The man sighed beneath him and held him tightly, tugging a sheet up and over their shoulders.  
"John?"  
"Yes, Sherlock?"  
The detective yawned before muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "I love you."  
"Mmm... Love you too," John replied and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodnight."  
 

 

 

 

flushing, he started retreating towards the bathroom. “You haven’t thought this through, Mary.”   
“Yes, we have,” she took a step closer to Sherlock, “and I know what you like, remember? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.” Her words were laced with innuendo.   
“Mary...” there was a warning tone in John’s voice. His stance was defensive, with his hands at his sides, his left palm slightly twitching.   
“John,” she took both his hands in hers, stilling the tremor, “think about it. You’ve missed him for so long. I saw you then...” her eyes were searching his, not voicing out loud how she’d seen John grieving and broken before she’d helped him slowly put himself together, piece by tiny piece. She hadn’t stopped doing that, had she? “Tell me, honestly tell me that you don’t want this and it will be all over. I’ll give you that jumper I bought just in case,” she finished with a small chuckle.   
John looked at Sherlock, still sitting on the bed, uncharacteristically quiet when a conversation involving him was in progress. However, his eyes were conveying more than his words ever could as they roamed over John’s half-naked body.    
“Sherlock?” all John’s questions were summed up in the tone of his voice as he said the name. But John had always assumed that Sherlock didn’t feel that way, that he didn’t like John that way. Apparently, he had been wrong. John realized this as he saw the open expression on Sherlock’s face, telling him that if Sherlock had been a predatory animal, John would have been lying underneath him in a matter of seconds.    
He had imagined a similar scenario many times before. At times when he lay in the dark, he could see in his mind’s eye an image of his best friend needing and wanting him beyond platonic friendship. John could almost feel Sherlock’s lips on his neck, long fingers settling on his hips and strong hands pulling him closer. But John knew he liked women, and Sherlock was always so emotionally distant, John had no idea where those images came from. Once they had, however, John had always needed a close encounter with his hand; the image of Sherlock front and centre in his mind.   
Sherlock stood up and approached John and Mary, his eyes focused on John’s. The expression on his face was stoic now, hiding the glimpse of emotional vulnerability that graced his face just moments before. John realised, Sherlock did not want to pressure him so he hid behind a mask of calm demeanour.   
“Ultimately, it’s your decision, John. Take it or leave it. I did get you something else just in case as well.” Sherlock reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed John a palm-sized paper bag. John couldn’t help himself and opened it to find a metal can. It said “Keemun Tea” in hand-written letters on the label.   
“Tea? You got me tea?”    
“You told me once about a tea your great aunt brought for you from China when you were a teenager. You said that drinking it was like tasting her adventures in a cup during a life rooted in place,” Sherlock quoted with astounding accuracy.   
“But I haven’t told you what the tea was, I never remembered the name...” It wasn’t just any tea, John thought as a warm, pleasant feeling came over him.   
“I called your great aunt and asked about the tea and the place she’d bought it from,” Sherlock's shrug was everything but nonchalant. “They shipped it within two weeks.”   
John was speechless for a moment. Sherlock went to all the trouble to bring his fondest memories back. “Thank you,” he finally said and went to the kitchen to put the tea in the cupboard. He stood for a moment, holding onto the countertop while he closed his eyes to let his mind do the thinking thing it should do. Then he reached into his heart in search of answers, knowing that the final outcome would have a great impact on how he had always seen himself and his sexuality.    
Decision made, he headed back to the bedroom.   
“Are you both sure about this?” John asked, his voice steady again after he had managed to collect his thoughts and emotions.   
“Yes,” Sherlock and Mary replied in a chorus of agreement.    
“If that’s a yes, from you too, John, I think we’ll need a safeword for all of us,” Sherlock said, looking between Mary and John. Sherlock’s own cheeks were flushed too. He wasn’t hesitant, but he was somewhat embarrassed, John assumed it was because of Mary’s presence more than anything else. He had been naked or almost naked in John’s presence before and never seemed to mind. “Black,” Sherlock said. “If any of us, at any time,” Sherlock looked squarely at John, “at any moment, say ‘black’, the play stops. Is everyone on board?”   
“Aye aye captain!” exclaimed Mary with a small chuckle. That made John laugh too, breaking the tense moment.    
Sherlock’s eyes flashed with excitement. He was on the case, John realized as he watched Sherlock twirl out of the bedroom only to come back a moment later with a thick folder in his hand. John had a premonition of what was about to happen and he couldn’t believe Sherlock could be so...so...Sherlock in a situation like this.    
“There are thirteen scenarios that would guarantee the most pleasurable experience for all participants, if we start with this,” not lifting his gaze from the folder, Sherlock handed John a sheet of paper with a diagram and several rough sketches of three people in various sexual positions. John had to turn it sideways, then rotate it again until he finally focused on one particular position. His mouth opened to express his surprise, his excitement, his shock at Sherlock’s in-depth analysis and apparent expertise but Sherlock handed him another sheet. This time John was astonished at the attention to detail he wouldn’t have expected from Sherlock.   
“This position,” Sherlock pointed at the second sheet with larger and detailed sketch, “is one most likely to appeal to you, John for a start of the evening. It will give you the sense of the familiar before you venture into the unfamiliar.” Sherlock looked at John for the first time since he started his tirade and John felt his mouth hanging open. “You’re holding it upside down, John.”   
John glanced at Mary who was grinning as she looked at John with complete adoration and a sense of triumph.    
“Have you seen this?” John pointed at the folder.   
“Yes, I have.” Mary replied clearly enjoying John’s befuddlement.   
Then John looked back at Sherlock, who stood with a business-like expression on his face, still holding the pornographic sketches in his hands. Sherlock hid the emotions John knew were there and, when he placed a palm on Sherlock’s cheek, the detective closed his eyes as if relishing the touch and leaned his head infinitesimally closer to John’s hand. When Sherlock’s eyes opened, the mask of composure evaporated and John was able to see the vulnerability, the emotion, and the arousal in Sherlock’s honest expression. The great detective was smitten.     
The two people John loved most in this world had conspired for this event. How could he resist?   
-   
Sherlock was nervous and he had sufficient reason to be. He hadn’t been sure John would want Sherlock in his bed, but after weeks of persuasion and Mary’s repeated assurances, he was ready to give it a try. She had had sound arguments for it too. She persuaded Sherlock that it would strengthen his and John’s unique friendship rather than breaking it apart.    
It had never been just friendship, not for Sherlock. It hadn’t been only physical attraction either, even though John was the perfect man in Sherlock’s eyes. The way he moved, talked, licked his bottom lip. The way he looked tired after a tough day, how he looked when he was sleepy, or in the morning when he was rested and on his way to make breakfast. When he was angry or annoyed at Sherlock for something he said or did, but most importantly when he was smiling. Seeing John smile wasn’t dissimilar to experiencing the sunrise in the cold desert of Sherlock’s soul. John touched Sherlock’s mind and, dare he think, his heart in ways no one had ever dared to. No one else had ever attempted to...   
Sherlock wanted John. God, how he had wanted him from the day they had met. But they were never meant to be. They were too different and John didn’t want men that way, he made it clear on several occasions. Despite that fact, Sherlock thought he’d seen a look or a gesture from John suggesting otherwise, but he had never been convinced enough to broach the subject with him. Afraid he would scare him, offend him, or worse - lose him. Nowadays, John was busy with his new life. He was not living with Sherlock anymore, hardly even visiting, occasionally texting. John seemed further away every day and it hurt to realize that it might get even worse after he got married. However, Sherlock was determined that John should have everything he needed in order to be happy. If that meant him marrying someone else, so be it.   
Having thought that, Sherlock realised the enormity of the unparalleled gift Mary was offering for him and John. Just when Sherlock thought he would lose John completely, the person who he’d thought would break the remnants of their friendship apart was desperately trying to bring them even closer together. Closer than they had ever been and in ways Sherlock only ever imagined during hot and sticky nights in his own bed.   
After the events of the last two years, Sherlock’s body betrayed him at times. Trying to conceal the slight tic in his right hand, Sherlock stripped, leaving just his shirt on. He bought a new shirt especially for this occasion. Years ago, he had heard John say that the purple shirt was the one he liked best. After two years of intense workouts in the form of running, weight lifting and martial arts training, he had put on a lot of muscle. He had had to go undercover to destroy Moriarty’s network from the inside, and he needed the extra strength.    
None of his old shirts would fit him now and that was the reason he had bought the new one, but not why he wouldn’t take it off tonight. He refused to show John his scars. The torture he had undergone was mapped out on his body but it was especially visible on his back. A map of what had happened to him during the two years of his separation from John. He didn’t want John to see him maimed, to see the realisation of what Sherlock had been through in John’s eyes. He didn’t want John to hate the look of his body either. The shirt would stay on.   
When John had first emerged from the bathroom with just a towel around his hips, Sherlock was speechless. John’s wet hair was combed back, his chest still glistening with drops of water. The sure military stance, chin lifted slightly upward, sharp jawline and the body of a man who never left the war made Sherlock’s libido escalate. He was spectacular. Doctor John Hamish Watson was a fine specimen. And Sherlock wanted his hands all over him.    
When John had actually agreed to what Sherlock and Mary had planned and scripted for this night, Sherlock could hardly believe it. The elation coursing through his veins mixed with trepidation. John’s eyes lifted to meet Sherlock’s and a blush adorned the detective’s cheeks, but John didn’t back away. Like the soldier he was, he held his hands in fists to his sides, back straight, lips in a straight line. Mary appeared in Sherlock’s field of vision, took his hand in one of hers and with the other she reached for John.   
-   
Of course, she was scared.    
John’s internalised homophobia hadn’t allowed him to acknowledge his bisexuality. Mary hoped that marrying her and still being able to have Sherlock as a friend and lover would finally fulfil John. Make him truly happy. If tonight went as she hoped, she was willing to throw herself into an agreement where the three of them consisted as a unit.   
From the moment she’d met John, she’d seen how broken he was. She’d tried to fix him as best she could, but it wasn’t enough. Only around Sherlock did she see the man John could become. The man he was afraid to let out. She hoped this experience would bring John and Sherlock closer together. But also, she wanted to be a part of it. She couldn’t forgo John. She wouldn’t, unless he asked her to. She’d never loved anyone as much as she loved John. She would kill for him, lie for him, die for him. Share her body with other man, for John.    
Share John with another man.    
“Well?,” she asked, knowing that if she didn’t give the two stubborn, closeted mules a little push they could spend the whole evening eyeing each other longingly. Occasionally stealing small touches when they thought no one was looking. They had spent years doing that before she appeared or so she had gathered from their other friends. Mrs. Hudson had a lot to say about the subject.    
-   
John’s breath stuck in his chest as he let himself appreciate the view of the two people he loved most in one room and waiting for him to claim his gift.   
Mary unzipped the side of her gorgeous red gown and let it fall on the floor. Underneath she wore lacy black bra, showing her breasts in their full splendour and a black garter belt with suspenders and black thigh-high stockings. And oh God... no panties. Sherlock stood right next to her, his hand cold in John’s warm one. Sherlock wore a black suit with a purple shirt. John’s eyes travelled from Sherlock’s cheekbones to the open collar and the tight shirt with buttons about to pop. Suddenly, the room became hot and stuffy and John had to sit on the bed. He looked at Mary, took a deep breath, looked at Sherlock…oops not where he had aimed to look initially but his sitting position left Sherlock’s groin at John’s eye level. John opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and pushed himself to a standing position again.    
He approached Mary then, took her face in his palms and placed a quick kiss on her lips, “You’re insane to think of this.”   
“I love you too, John.” She smiled radiantly at him then her gaze shifted between Sherlock and John.    
-   
“Go on,” Mary encouraged.    
Finally, John approached Sherlock much the same way he had approached Mary a moment before. He framed Sherlock's face with his palms, drawing the taller man to stoop a little as John looked up and let their lips meet for the first time. John clearly aimed for the same chaste kiss but Sherlock’s hands flew to John’s hair and nape, trapping them in the kiss. A moment into it, both of them relaxed and opened, letting their tongues dance. It was the culmination of all their repressed need. They kissed like they couldn’t breathe without each other. It was the most erotic thing Mary has ever seen in her life.    
-   
John felt the exquisite mix of Sherlock's cold hand on his nape and Sherlock's hot mouth on his own. The thrill of the kiss was much like the thrill of the chase; John’s heart accelerated, breath quickened, mind focused on one thing. This time it was Sherlock’s touch, his lips, his hair, and oh God his lower back. He pulled John so incredibly close that he could feel the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt imprinting round shapes on John’s naked torso. Sherlock kissed him like he wanted to claim him, devour him and pleasure him at the same time. John had never been kissed with such desperation mixed with finesse before, as if this was destined to be their first and last kiss.    
John fell into the kiss, giving up control, not caring for this one moment about anything else. His hand twisted in Sherlock’s hair, the black curls he had wanted to touch for so long but had never dared. John’s towel slid to the floor, or maybe it was Sherlock who took it off. John didn’t care anymore. He wanted this man who had made him question his desires for all the time they lived together, who had broken his heart by leaving him, who had come back and barged into his life again, stamping on his feelings, bringing back the pain and longing. John felt everything now and it all centred around Sherlock. The anger and desire, the frustration and lust, the confusion and love. The carpet beneath his feet ceased to exist and so did the room, the world. Mary.    
Mary.   
John broke the kiss to look at Mary who, to his surprise was as flushed with arousal as he himself was. In a surge of endorphins, John picked up Mary who wrapped her legs around John’s waist releasing a squeak, and lay her on the bed. He climbed on top of her, initiating a series of open-mouth kisses along her body, her breasts, ending at her pussy. She was already aroused, her wetness encouraging him to dip two fingers inside. John suckled on the bundle of nerves that made Mary writhe on the bed while curling his fingers upward just the way he knew would make his fiancée scream in ecstasy. Mary was the most sexually responsive woman John had ever had the pleasure of having underneath him. She clutched John’s hair, holding onto him as her other hand desperately tried to hold onto the sheet, her body arching from the climax. Her eyes flew open with more hunger in them than before as she came on his tongue and John knew at that moment that this gift was for them both.    
For the three of them.    
From the very beginning of his and Mary’s relationship, the sex had always been excellent. Mary was insatiable in bed and John was honoured to oblige her. The best part of their relationship was in the bedroom. What that meant was a subject to ponder another time. Still coming down from the excitement of Mary’s orgasm, John missed the moment the bed dipped to his left.    
Sherlock, in all his glory, sexy shirt and long legs, was sitting on the bed like the most enticing snack, waiting to be devoured. Prior to climbing on the bed, Sherlock had shed the suit jacket and the whole bottom part of his wardrobe which left him wearing just the shirt. John’s mouth dried and he licked his lips looking from Sherlock’s half-mast cock to his face. The smirk on Sherlock’s face hid a hint of fear of rejection, but John had learned to see through Sherlock’s array of masks. John had never pleasured a man before, but the equipment was the same so how hard could it be?    
On the bed, in front of him, wasn’t just a man. It was Sherlock, the man who roused all kinds of mixed feelings in John. At that moment, arousal and stage fright were battling each other for dominance. But just for this night, this one night he could let himself do what he wanted. They had all agreed to it. No one else would know, only the three of them. The two people he trusted most and himself.    
John climbed on the bed, straddling Sherlock’s outstretched legs. His hands did a slow upward slide on Sherlock's shirt before opening the second button from the top as the first was already open, revealing Sherlock's long, pale neck even more. Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand in his, stopping him from opening the next button.   
“The shirt stays,” Sherlock announced leaving no space for argument, his eyes flashing at John with something almost scary. This wasn’t the same Sherlock who left John over two years ago.    
“Fine,” John said harshly directly into Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock didn’t initiate the kiss, he didn’t push as John would have expected. He didn’t direct the play as he used to direct their actions when they still lived together. This night, he let John decide and take what he wanted from Sherlock.   
“How can I want you so badly, Sherlock?” John whispered into the crux of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder before he kissed the soft skin there. “I want to taste you, lick you, fuck you.” He was like the forbidden fruit, and John wanted to devour him and never look back.   
“What are you waiting for?” Sherlock growled, gripping a fair amount of John’s short hair at the nape and bringing their mouths together hungrily, eliciting low rumbling noises from them both.    
John broke the kiss and locked gazes with Sherlock as he slid lower, parting the sides of Sherlock’s shirt to reveal Sherlock’s cock. John gulped looking at it. How Mary managed to get all of John’s cock in her mouth he didn’t know, but this...this may prove to be an impossible task.    
John licked the underside of Sherlock’s cock from the balls to tip, holding it steady with his hand, then took the head into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, gathering the precome, swallowing it. Sherlock’s head fell back, his hands reaching out, sliding up John’s arms, and carding into John’s hair.    
“You have no idea how long it’s been since I first imagined you doing this to me, John.” Sherlock’s usually low voice seemed even deeper, silkily laced with the arousal John wrought from him.    
Encouraged, John took more of Sherlock into his mouth, sucking eagerly. Sherlock’s arousal was making his own peak even more, and the tip of John’s cock brushed Sherlock’s legs. The unfamiliar yet pleasantly tickling sensation of leg hairs brushing his cock made John want to press harder and seek more friction. Quickly enough, John fell into a rhythm with his hand and mouth, relishing the purring sounds coming from Sherlock.   
“Enough,” Sherlock’s strangled voice informed John, as he tugged at his hair, enough that John’s mouth lost its grip on Sherlock’s cock. John loved the feel of Sherlock pulling his hair, the pain informing him how much Sherlock liked it, the tiny pinpricks on his scalp turning quickly from pain into pleasure.   
Mary appeared in John’s field of vision and straddled Sherlock, her back to John’s best friend, her legs open in invitation to her husband-to-be.    
“Will you share your fiancée with your best friend, John?” she asked playfully handing John a bottle of lube. “And will you do the honours?”   
John looked at Sherlock over Mary’s shoulder, his face flushed, hands behind his head, waiting for John’s decision.    
“I’d love to,” John replied, reaching for Mary’s face to kiss her, letting their tongues meet for a brief moment, letting his mouth say thank you as he shared the taste of his friend with his fiancée. Thank you for doing this. He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the familiar feeling before doing more of the unfamiliar awaiting them. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock with an unbelievably sexy smirk on his face. A cat who got the cream.   
John took the lube from Mary and poured a generous amount on his hand and slicked both of his palms together. Fingers of his right hand circled Mary’s back entrance, eliciting a sigh from his fiancée. When he slid the first finger into her, his other hand reached for Sherlock’s cock to apply the same substance.    
   
Sherlock lay on his back, ready. He was looking over Mary’s shoulder at John who knelt on the bed, and slowly stroked himself. His lips were slightly parted as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him.   
Mary squatted over Sherlock, her back still to him, and took his cock to guide it to her back entrance. She was looking at John as she slowly lowered herself, lifting up a little, then lowering a little further. Her eyes closed for a moment. Her generous breasts were showcasing her fast breathing pattern, and her stockinged legs were graceful even in the unusual position, the black nylon a stark contrast to Sherlock’s pale skin right beside it.   
John looked at Sherlock then and, to his surprise, Sherlock wasn’t looking at where his body was joining Mary’s but he was looking at John. John felt a flush hit his body just at the moment that Sherlock’s hips moved upward, seating himself fully in John’s fiancée. Mary relaxed then and lay back on Sherlock’s chest, her arms moving to the sides. Sherlock hooked his arms, bent at the elbows over Mary’s to hold her steady. It was equivalent to being tied to the bed for her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary, John noticed as she graced him with a sultry look, her legs falling open even more in silent invitation.    
John moved closer, his knees on both sides of Sherlock’s long pale legs and between Mary’s open ones. John realized that this was the moment to throw all his inhibitions away. Tonight, he had to if he wanted to experience this gift fully. John grazed his fingertips over Sherlock’s ankle then flattened his palms over his calves and slid his hands along Sherlock’s legs, to the inside of his thighs, marvelling at the expanse of smooth skin. Until he noticed scarring.    
“John...” Sherlock’s voice beckoned him to look up, over Mary’s shoulder, at his friend. Sherlock’s face was flushed, much like his own and he didn’t say another word, John’s name still lingered on his parted lips. Not breaking the gaze, John’s hand slid to Sherlock’s sac, gently cupping it before it moved to the place the two people he held dearest in this world were joined. Mary’s back arched, her full breasts beckoning John. He leaned to take one of her nipples in his mouth, his hand caressing the soft tissue between the two of Mary’s openings before he slid two fingers inside her wet heat.    
“Oh God Mary...”   
“Hurry up, John before I come on your fingers, I swear,” Mary breathed in impatience. John chuckled into her breast and saw Sherlock smile too. John took himself in his hand and after rubbing the head of his cock on Mary’s dripping pussy, he slid inside. Slowly, in one fluid, yet unhurried thrust, all the way to the hilt. He paused then, his head dipping, to steady his breath, to steady the blood flow in his veins, to just hold steady. It was a tight fit. He could feel Sherlock’s balls touching his, Sherlock's cock so close to his own through the thin layer inside his fiancée’s body.    
As Mary lay stretched over Sherlock, she turned to whisper in his ear and Sherlock’s eyes turned to John. His eyes were filled with such lust John could feel the gaze scorching his skin.    
He started moving slowly, in and out of Mary, his hands holding onto her thighs. Then Mary lifted her hips which allowed Sherlock to start moving his hips up and down as he slid inside Mary. It took a minute or two to synchronise their movements. They started moving faster. Mary’s mewling, louder than the grunts coming from both of the men in the room, signalled she was close. John had been right and soon Mary was screaming as her body pulsed on both cocks before she collapsed back on Sherlock. It was her second orgasm and John knew she could easily have three in one evening but she started to carefully disengage from the two of them.    
John’s narrowed eyes landed on Mary and she gave him a mischievous smile as she climbed off Sherlock and winked. Did she just wink at Sherlock? She did, didn’t she? John felt as if he had woken up in a pornographic version of The Twilight Zone. When they told John that they had discussed the matter they weren’t kidding. Apparently, they scripted it too. John swallowed audibly, the realisation that the game wasn’t over swallowed by the anticipation of the upcoming scenario.    
Mary pulled John over to her and kissed him, both of them kneeling on the bed, letting Sherlock slide underneath them off the bed to stand on the floor. Mary moved so as to make John follow her until he was on his hands and knees kissing her. His left hand reached to stroke his erection. When John’s eyes bulged in realisation at Sherlock’s touch on his hip, John felt Mary smile into their kiss. Sherlock’s hands slid over John’s body, a slow stroke along his spine all the way to his nape where Sherlock’s hand squeezed slightly. John could feel the heat of Sherlock’s body so close to his own, yet not touching. Not close enough.   
“John?” Sherlock’s velvet baritone, so close to his ear, caused a shiver to run through John’s body, “what’s the safeword?” Sherlock’s hand wandered from John’s back to his buttocks as Sherlock’s teeth grazed John’s ear. Hinting at what was coming so John could get the idea and have the time to back away.   
“Black,” John said, breaking away from his fiancée, turning his head to look at Sherlock’s face so close to his own.   
“I can stop at any mo-...” Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence, John wouldn’t let him as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s in a fast, wet meeting filled with agreement, promise, and long-suppressed need. Sherlock broke the kiss, subsequently placing another one on John’s jaw. Then he trailed his mouth down to John’s neck, sucking a mark onto him. John felt giddy triumph at the thought of walking out of the house tomorrow with that mark on his neck. Everyone would think it was Mary who had done it. Mary.    
John looked at his fiancée underneath him, as his best friend continued kissing his back, and she gave him a small nod, letting him know that that was the plan all along. How could she be okay with this?  And she wasn’t simply okay with it but was committed to the idea. However, he couldn’t dwell on those details now; his mind was too overwhelmed with physical sensation to think coherently. But as long as everybody consented, John was able to let himself go. Do what his body wanted, let Sherlock do to his body what they both wanted.    
Sherlock bit John’s buttock before both of his hands spread John open to welcome the slickness of Sherlock’s tongue. “Sherlock...” John squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head to compose himself. In the meantime, Mary reached for John’s cock to stroke it. John gripped the sheets of the bed, his nails digging into the fabric. He bit his lip when he felt Sherlock’s lubed finger taking the place of his tongue inside John, working its way in slowly, spreading the slick substance generously.    
“Relax, John,” he heard Sherlock say and he did, he tried, he relaxed and oh God... “Mary, slow down... oh just a little...yes...” John could barely contain his orgasm but he did. He took a few deep breaths and leaned his face close to the bed, giving Sherlock better access. He felt the tip of Sherlock's cock breaching the ring of muscle between his arse cheeks.    
The sublime sensation was so different to what he had imagined it would be. It didn’t hurt, even though John wouldn’t have minded if it had. The intrusion, the idea that it was Sherlock inside him made John euphoric. John bit into the sheets, the fabric muffling the strangled sound leaving his throat. Sherlock eased himself in with short in and out motions that grew deeper and deeper, until John felt Sherlock’s hips touching his arse.    
John broke the grip Mary had on his cock and pushed himself upwards. He was kneeling with Sherlock behind him in the same position. They stilled for a moment to catch their balance. Immediately John felt Sherlock’s arms around him; one across John’s chest and the other around his throat. Mary moved to crouch in front of him on all fours to take John’s erection in her mouth, giving him a sultry look. John let his head fall back to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, relishing the gentle squeeze of his best friend’s palm on his throat.   
John was surrounded, his prudish walls under siege, crumbling. He found talking about intimacy and emotions hard. This was easier. They all didn’t have to talk about their urges, they acted on them. He knew Mary would press him to talk about it sooner or later but for now, he could enjoy the physical. Just for this night John could let his walls fall apart brick by brick. What he was afraid of was that he might never want to build them back in place. Maybe that was a good thing.   
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you, John,” Sherlock’s words were rhapsodic, filled with more emotion that John ever thought his detective capable of.   
A thought flashed through John’s mind. Was it possible to come from the sound of someone’s voice alone? At this particular moment, he thought it was highly probable. John turned his head to kiss Sherlock. A quick wet kiss which he broke quickly, not wanting to steer Sherlock’s focus away from the demanding thrusts of his hips. “Shut up and fuck me, Sherlock. Fuck me like you’ve wanted to.” Like I’ve wanted you too, he realized in amazement.     
Sherlock bit into John’s shoulder as he picked up the pace with his hips, holding John in place with his teeth. Sherlock angled his hips to put better pressure on John’s prostate and the massage proved to be John’s last straw. John held onto Sherlock’s arm with one hand and to Mary’s hair with the other when his orgasm hit him. Sherlock’s hand tightened on John’s throat as he barked out John’s name filling John’s arse with his semen the same moment John filled Mary’s mouth. She looked up at him, their gaze met as she swallowed somehow managing not to gag in the midst of it all. She sucked gently on his now sensitive flesh before popping his cock out of her mouth and gracing John with a radiant smile.    
John could still feel Sherlock’s breath on his shoulder and the large body flush at his back when the reality of the moment finally hit him. Endorphins dissipating in his body, the adrenaline dwindling, the excitement turning into apprehension.   
“Don’t overthink it, John,” Sherlock chided from behind John as he slid his penis out of his body, “not now. I can almost hear your brain straining. Leave it for now.” As if a string has been cut when Sherlock disconnected them, John collapsed on the bed. He looked between Mary and Sherlock, who was standing now by the foot of the bed, looking at him as if waiting for John to break down or have a panic attack. John laughed heartily. He couldn't help himself as a fit of giggles took him over. He felt elation coursing through his veins. John felt rapturous, his emotions all over the place. The two most important people in his life joined him in his laughter, their worry dissipating.    
Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, and when he left Mary went in. Sherlock was doing something on his phone, standing in the middle of the bedroom, still wearing just his shirt. John wondered why hadn’t he taken it off, but was too tired and too happy to care. He was able get up only for a quick clean up and immediately went back to bed. He listened to Sherlock’s voice as he talked to Mary whose voice was further away and John pulled a sheet over himself letting his eyes close for just a moment. He drifted off in the bliss only to wake up too soon to a sound of a doorbell.   
Mary was wearing John’s checked shirt and Sherlock had put on black boxers and changed into a black shirt. Sherlock approached the bed with a large paper bag that smelled heavenly to John. If Heaven smelled like oriental spices. His stomach made a pleading sound.   
“You ordered from Wagamama?” John asked Mary, surprised.   
“Sherlock did,” Mary answered. “I’m too tired to cook and we both know we wouldn't eat anything Sherlock prepared.   
“Hey!” Sherlock exclaimed, offended. “I think I shall just have to eat this chicken katsu curry all by myself,” Sherlock gave a great theatrical sniff of the bag he held as he started turning towards the kitchen.   
“Nooo!” whined John and Mary in unison.    
“Your cooking is spectacular, Sherlock! Come back with that bag! Come on!” John pleaded, but he couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice.    
“Have you ever eaten anything he prepared?” Mary whispered to John.   
“God, no. Not that I ever had to. I’m not even sure he ever found out where I used to keep the bread.”   
“I can still hear you!” Sherlock yelled from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of cupboards being open and closed. A moment later, Sherlock brought through two plates filled with delicious-smelling food, handed them to John and Mary, and returned quickly with one for himself. He sat on the very end of the bed, opposite the engaged couple.     
They ate in companionable silence. However, John’s mind was far from quiet. He observed Sherlock sitting too far from them considering what they had just done. Was he unsure of being wanted as a part of their union? John wondered if he was so certain himself. Apparently, Sherlock and Mary planned and choreographed the whole evening but all of them had to talk about what would that change in their relationship. The transcendent experience already transformed John’s thinking. He had come to realise that this night could just be the beginning of a new chapter in all of their lives.   
John looked at Mary who, winked at him when she noticed him staring before she continued forking small bites into her mouth. Then John looked at Sherlock. Eating. Sherlock was eating. He usually ate after a successful case, when he was satiated, content. Therefore, Sherlock must consider this night a success. He bloody well should, because it had been the greatest sexual experience of John’s life.   
John looked at his best friend, the long graceful legs, the forearms peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeves, the neck showcased in the overhead light and realised his refractory period was over.    
John reached for Sherlock's empty plate and placed it, along with his, on the nightstand. He grazed Sherlock’s knee with his fingertips before looking up at his friend.    
“John?” Sherlock asked raising his eyebrows, then looked towards John’s erection and smirked.    
“I want to fuck you now, Sherlock,” John’s voice came out steady, commanding and he could tell Sherlock was hooked as he moved further on the bed.   
“Yes, Captain,” Sherlock responded and John was gone for him.   
John looked inside himself. He felt at peace, not only physically but deep in his heart. He felt...   
...happy.   
 


End file.
